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Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » A father's debt, a lord's command (Medieval)(Open)

"Hear me out... young one... and hear well the words of wisdom, of one who has walked the path of shame.

The living world is known for its harsh and cruel ways. Unfairness, injustice, trickery and treacherous dubious dealings are rife among the living, high and low born alike, whatever race or creed they hail from. Everywhere miscreants take advantage of those naive and foolish enough to engage in absurd bargains and there certainly isn't such a thing as free lunch.

Unfair at it is, when the father falls, it is his son who pays the price... or his wife... or his daughter.... or all of them, even himself. The same goes for reckless lords who barter thoughtlessly without the least care. When you squeeze such nobles, it is the peasants who feel the pinch and bear the brunt of it all, it is the peasants who endure the bitter taste of slavery.

One thing is certain... in this realm... nobody can avoid death nor taxes... and no debt ever never remains unpaid" assured Chaucer, his eyes haunted by grim past experiences, a time of persecution and of want, as he gazed at the flames from the hearth whilst craddling the warm mug with his hands, telling his narrative to whoever cared to hear from among the patrons at Morgan's tavern

Around his neck glimered the metal cuff that clearly singled out his condition as a slave, perhaps a fugitive one, perhaps one for sale, or simply one at work... by his feet laid an empty small woolen cap with which to collect whatever coinage and donations the patrons might want to leave for him to benefit off their generosity.
CHAUCER bard playwright jester (played by Tusitala2017) Topic Starter

((OOC - Open RP, feel free to post your reply. 3rd person RP narrative, no godmodding))
(Not really sure if this is still open, but I'm interested)

Tonaf Odarg had always dreamt of adventure. He'd fantasized greatly about travelling the corners of the world, shifting in his quilt on those sleepness nights, where he was wide awake even at midnight, a dim wax candle by the side of his bed to keep himself comfortable while he brooded on his fantasies. His adoptive father was a hermit scholar, and Tonaf had learned to read from the man before his death. That was a decade ago, and Ton had indulged in many of those same sleepless nights under honey glow of a lit candle since then. He'd wondered if the tales and legends hidden inside those dusty tomes were true, maybe there truly such creatures like beastly dragons and graceful Elves beyond the canopy of Glythryncote forest. Perhaps he would meet his estranged kindred in the mountain holds of the Dwarves, where he would be dubbed a nickname other than 'Wood Dwarf' as he was known by travelling tallfolk.

He remembered these fantasies with a knot in his heart, because this was not the way he'd wanted his adventures to begin. Tonaf was no longer 'Wood Dwarf,' or 'The lumberjack.' He was Tonaf the conscript, clad in a uniform of leather and chainmail, his body draped under a poorly fitted tabard bearing the coat of arms of his feudal lord. The mustering square was a bare, greying courtyard, and not even the cloudless skies above could remedy the poor mood of the day. He was brought to attention with a century of able bodied men, all tall-folk, their uniforms glinting under the early morning sun looming above him like statues. Drill time again, Ton sighed, still half-awake as he remembered his bitter accomodation.

They came abruptly to his little underground home, sat in a forest in the middle of nowhere at all. That was how Ton like it, no folk to bother him save the critters that ended up on his dinner plate. That was until two weeks ago, when bailiffs who'd never bothered him before; men who served a lord whose name he'd never known (and frankly already forgot) came to his earthly stump. They were steel clad, their hands caressed the hilt of their blades.

"By the immediate authority of the Lord, you are hereby compelled by the crown to serve..."

For whatever reason, he didn't argue. Their presence was so abrupt, their features so noble, that he felt unable to argue his freedom out of fear that they would kill him where he stood. Perhaps he would have fought back, if he had known that the bailiffs would reappropriate his home and honest wealth. They had come to force him from his home and steal his life's worth in the name of nobility, and it was with that thought that Tonaf struggled to quell the stirring rage that burned in his brain like hot coals.

Tonaf gripped the pole of his axe in frustration, with not even the drill sergeants incessant barking to stir him from his reverie.
DEAN MORGAN taverner healer (played by Tusitala2017) Topic Starter

Dean Morgan was a humble hard working taverner who prized himself in being an attentive host to his patrons and fair and kind to his handful of servants whom he treated as though they were family.

Life had brought him many joys, a wealthy inheritance, a profitable trade and a few lands to call his own, above all a doting wife with whom he'd shared many summer and winter nights with. Though fate had also brought him many sorrows, the loss of his only child being the greatest among them. Ever since that fateful night, they had not been able to conceive another and both were aging graceful though they sorely felt the absence of heirs and the empty nest grown heavier in their hearts as time passed.

It was for this reason that, whenever he was given a chance, Dean would bring misfortunates, homeless and beggars under his roof, provide them food and shelter, a modest wage if they earned it well enough through their hard work. Chaucer was one of those wandering runaway ones he'd found roaming and in need of help and these past few months he'd grown fond of the bard's songs and jests and his cheerful music.

Even so, despite all the usual merrymaking, the bard had also had his troubling nights when his words were sober if somber whilst he spoke of the heavy shameful burden of unwilling servitude and tonight all the more so, for very good reason.

When the cruel lord knight Tron Pentre, whom many called Tron the Terrible for his lack of humanity, compassion and kindness, had decided to come to this small village of Sleepy Hollow to claim conscripts for the war, he recognized Chaucer, lord Simon's runaway slave, and had him seized at once, claiming the bard for his own uses and service.

Despite Dean's protests, when it was all said and done, rotten Terrible Tron formally took ownership of the poor sod. Chaucer indeed had good reason to woe and rue the day now that he'd been collared again to a man few would ever dare disappoint in any way.

All Dean could do, was to offer the unlucky bard a bowl of soup, slices of bread and warm wine, a farewell gift for yet another lost adopted son.
PENTRE lord knight vamp (played by Tusitala2017) Topic Starter

The stomping of boots, steady, confident in their rythm, like the ominous beating of the drums at execution hour, became louder and louder.

For those staying at the large common room, the dinning hall of the tavern, their loud voices and chatter became soft whispers, quiet, muffled, many held their breath and hurriedly ducked their heads to clearly avert the sight in the presence of the dark lord knight of the realm, whose only knightly noble feature was his birth rights and title. Many more patrons just withdrew into silence whilst the loathed lord knight, the leader of the royal armies, came in.

His dark eyes scanned the room for any sign of rebellion, of defiance, yet he found none... not one dared to look up to the man, though his narrowed eyes did not miss the silent rebellion of the new recruit, Tonaf Odarg. His adoptive father... Zackary Odarg, a most learned man and former friend of Pentre's became a deserter of the army many years ago.

The noble insisted he was a scholar, that he had the moral duty to withdraw from Tron's service for he would not sign off the slaughter innocents. The man remained true to his word, shunning most of his wealth and all of his titles to become a hermit scholar, and Pentre himself never crossed paths with him again nor did he forgive the perceived betrayal, letting him live his final days in peace and poverty, mostly because he never knew where the honourable learned man, Zachary Odarg had gone to live.

The kingdom was vast, the forests were dense and there was always rebellion brewing at every corner and step that needed quenching, be it among human lesser lords, or among humans and other races that lurked at the borders and threatened to take more, encroach land off men's control and power.

Though there was no immediate retaliation from Terrible Tron when Zachary Odarg resigned, he percieved these actions and reasons as cowardice and high treason, rather than good morals... it was for this motive that Tron spared no coin in finding Zachary and his adopted son.

Once informants reported of the whereabouts, Pentre laid in waiting until the adopted beloved son Olaf came of age and swiftly came to collect the lad, preying him from his father's housestead in act of pety revenge and turning him into a conscript despite being a dwarf.

Now he would take pleasure and revenge lording over Odarg's son, thus he turned to the dwarf.

"Lad... fetch that bagpipe and gag him... I won't have his rambles upset the guests" demanded Tron, expecting Olaf to comply and seeking to create a rift between the scurry fugitive bard... who had yet again fallen into his grasp, and the axe gripping conscript.

Nothing had given Tron the greatest satisfaction as was collaring the babbling buffoon and sending his knights to fetch Olaf, another son who would bear his father's debts and sins, as far as the dark lord was concerned.
Ton struggled to stifle a cough. The air was especially chill, not even the warmth of his beard sufficed to quell the early spring gloom cooling his nostrils. He felt some sense that if he failed to remain silent, he'd be met with reproach under the gaze of his regimental captain, as well as his taller peers. The latter folk didn't seem too bothered, however, as soldiers coughed and sneezed overhead, using their shields to cover their mouths. Tonaf didn't blame them, this was just another run-of-them-mill session. They'd half broken their backs like this for every day, three weeks straight, and that was how long Ton had been forced into this pig sty. Gods knew how long some of the young boys had been mustered here, drafted from their home to fight for a border in the name of a lord whose name they'd most likely forgotten already. Ton was a burly little man, however, and he could cope with the stress on his body. He'd snatched a glance at a bitter looking man a few rows back, a conscript like himself with a linen binding across the mail of his left thigh. He'd sparred with Ton early on, his band of bully-boys belittled the dwarf as a 'useless midget,' those taunts were snuffed out after Ton had almost cleaved the man's leg off with his axe.

But Ton had never actually killed a man. He'd defended his home from outlaws hunting for easy prey, of course. But he had never took another life that did not belong to a woodland critter. That was what prevented him from hacking the man's leg clean off and traumatising his gang of hoodlums, the captain would not have turned a blind eye to the injury were that the case. He dreaded that it would not be long before he took his first life, or perhaps he himself would be caught in a deluge and slain on the battlefield. That was a far thought at the moment, the captain and a few other figures that Ton did not recognise contemptuously surveying their serfs. It mattered not what droll they discussed, he just wanted this uptight business to finally end.

Ten minutes of further spine straightening was all it took. But in Ton's mind it felt like an eternity. With a raised palm and a grunt of dismissal, the regiment were given their tasks, and the formally tense square suddenly became of forum of conversation between the men.

Ton found himself content to spar with the dummies, alongside a few feeble bodied conscripts that had followed after him, men too afraid to test their arms against real mettle. After the altercation with the snide soldier and his bully-boys, Ton was suspended from taking practice in live combat. At least until battle, then his mettle would indeed be tested. He'd heard talk that the commander was looking to rendevuouz with the main army out on the border. There was no point in dreading it now, there was a high chance that in the next week, he was going to die. A bittersweet reward for all his dreams of adventure was about to begin.

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